Pulpwood Truck

Twelve wheels pulverize the old dirt road
and throw it up in blinding dust curtains
that slowly shimmer in the summer heat.
On the way to the papermill, a pulp load,
overstacked and held on by trace chains
that slowly shimmer in the summer heat.

Hardwood stacked 18 feet or more high
as the big diesel truck barrels along,
on a route from woodyard to millyard.
Smell the smoke, hear the engine cry.
Blood and sweat and toil is its song,
on a route from woodyard to millyard.

Swathes of cleared forest lay far behind
as she barrels through the summer sun.
From the past where river drivers strode,
to a future, nature laid waste by mankind.
Steadily onward the roads of progress run,
from the past where river drivers strode.